you wanted to make sure I didn’t say I was interested in you because you’ve all but given me an entire building on loan or because you’re holding my only means of transportation hostage as a way of getting us to spend time together. If I go with what I know about you, I know you just wanted to give me room to feel I could be honest about what I wanted to happen with us. You didn’t want me to worry about any of that if my answer wasn’t the one you wanted to hear.”
“That’s exactly what I meant.”
“But it was easier for me to take offense and assume you were questioning my moral character, because that helps me keep my guard up. I’ve had a lot of practice keeping that guard up, so I’m more comfortable there. So, when I feel like tucking in and taking the worst possible slant on something . . . that’s when I need to take two seconds and remember who it is I’m talking to and who is talking to me. And remember that I can always talk to you. You’re the first person, really, I’ve felt comfortable enough to say anything to.”
For the first time, his lips twitched. “A point you’ve made abundantly clear.”
“Okay, maybe I have given you a hard time,” she said dryly, “but I can also talk to you about stuff that I’d only ever felt comfortable talking to Bea about, and that was because she understood. She was family. You . . . I just met you.”
“You can trust me, Honey.”
“I know.” She smiled. “I mean, I really do know that. Do you know that? That you can trust me, too?”
“I wanted to talk to you about my past, my family . . . maybe some part of it was like you said, shoving it out there as a way to gauge things, make you duck and run if that’s what you’re going to do, but sooner rather than later. I don’t generally need to tell anyone about that time. The past is just that, for me. It’s no longer relevant—which is why I know we’re involved. It might be relevant to you, so it matters to me that you know about it.”
“If you think I should know, then tell me. I do want to know you, Dylan, but not so I can cut and run. I want to know you because you matter. And your past is part of you.”
He smiled then, but it didn’t quite reach his beautifully wise eyes. “At least you’ll know who—what—you’re dealing with. If it changes things, then it changes things.”
She understood how hard it was for him to lower those walls. He wanted to, and that was big for her, but he was still hedging his bets. “The first time I had a vision here, it was a whopper. If anything was going to put you off, that would have done it. Instead, you shocked me by asking about it, talking about it almost casually. You were more worried if I was okay, than whether or not my head was going to keep spinning around. No one ever did that. Ever. No one looked past the spinning head to the person who was being spun. Until you.
“And then, this last time, when I spontaneously jumped into your arms that first day in the bookstore—my store,” she corrected, smiling briefly. “And it triggered another episode, your first instinct was to hold on tight, to be there, to encourage me, calm me. You didn’t let go. You knew what to do, or you followed your instincts, and that ended up being the same thing, because your instinct was to worry about me first, and what was happening to me second. That helped me. You have no idea how much.”
She closed the space between them, until their bodies brushed against each other. “That I can do this, walk right up to you like this, and feel pretty much fearless, knowing that even if it triggers a vision, I can trust that you won’t cut and run. That’s the man you are. To me. I want to know the rest of you, Dylan. Any of it, all of it, whatever you want to share with me.”
She reached up, brushed her fingertips across his cheek, watched his gaze darken, and felt her body respond to him as if he’d put out a siren call with nothing more than a look. “Because you’re right. I’m already